Shades of Grey
by Grand Delusions
Summary: Set IV is up! Based on the episodes, and inspired by the 133 LJ moodsets, a series of oneshots explore the various moods of Meredith Grey and the situations she finds herself in. MerDer UST.
1. Set I

Title: Shades of Grey

Summary: A series of one-shots examine the various moods of Meredith Grey. They're all one-shots, but they create a larger story.

Morrigan's Note: I know, I haven't written anything in over a year. And, honestly, I had no intension of doing so, but I was inspired when I was updating my livejournal by the 133 moodsets. I liked the idea of using them to describe Meredith and how different situations would impact her emotions. In the end, it will be about 25 chapters long with each chapter consisting of a set of 5 or 6 moodsets.

Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy… if I did, the plot would be very different right now.

-o-

_A/N 1: Each chapter is a mini-story that takes the pervious episode as inspiration and a jumping off point, and incorporates it to fit the various moods. Ideally, after each new episode there would be at least one new chapter—possibly more depending on if there's a major directional shift in the show. And since it's 25 chapters, and there's not 25 episodes before the season finale, I'll probably be taking liberties directionally during the summer._

_A/N 2: As I know nothing about medicine, I'm not even going to attempt trying to sound like I know anything about it._

-o-

Sets I consists of: Accomplished, Aggravated, Amused, Angry, and Annoyed; and was written post _"Band-Aids Cover Bullet Holes."_

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**Shades of Grey**

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**Accomplished:**

Your arms feel like they're about to fall off. Dropping the stack of labs onto the surface you lean against the counter trying to catch your breath. Pulling your notepad out of your pocket, you struggle to find a pen. _Shit, it was here a minute ago!_ On the far side of the nurse's station, you finally find it, but only succeed in knocking it to the floor. There the ballpoint pen stares triumphant as you practically topple the tower of labs.

"Having trouble, Grey?" Bailey smirks as she walks by you trying desperately to keep the mountain from collapsing in a messy heap of folders and papers.

'_God, how long have you been at it?'_ you wonder as you tentatively bend down for the pen.

Checking your watch, you realized you're less than 4 hours into your shift. _Ouch!_ Apparently, checking your watch, but not watching your head as you stand, isn't the greatest of ideas. As if answering your silent question to the gods of surgery if the day could possibly get any worse, Dr. She-Bitch chooses to walk by. She's dressed up today, you observe, in a skirt, heels, and designer top. Her hair's all fabulous and perfect, while your stringy hair is falling out of a sloppy bun and you're standing like a lost child in wrinkled scrubs.

Who the hell shows up to work at a hospital dressed like that anyway? Does Derek notice that she can maintain her Manhattan Power Diva look while you could barely look presentable when living in a trailer? Does he think every morning: _'Thank God I chose the smart, genius, gorgeous doctor over the stupid, stumbling intern?'_

You hate her! But, you know that's a lie, like every other time you've promised yourself to hate her, and to work harder at hating her. You can't even accomplish hating your ex-boyfriend's wife that he left you for. God, can you do anything right?

Flipping through the pages, you find today's page. Victoriously you cross off _'deliver labs.'_ Not trusting your sleep-denied eyes, you count the items on the list again, ticking each one off with your fingers, double, and triple checking what you think you're seeing. _Seriously?_ Only 3 more grunt-related tasks left, only 4 hours into the shift? Maybe you can sleep or study or maybe even scrub in on a minor procedure before lunch.

As your mind wanders to consider all the possibilities for the morning, you see him. Shoulders hunched over, eyes dead ahead, he ignores your attempts to catch his eye—to simply have him acknowledge your existence. There's no way he can't see you, reason proclaims, he's walking directly past you.

"Hey George."

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, doesn't answer; but you see his eyes flick over to you, before settling straight ahead again. It's nothing major, but it's something. It's a start. And it suddenly occurs to you, that the biggest thing you've accomplished this morning isn't written in your notepad.

-o-

**Aggravated:**

She finds you sitting in the far corner of the gallery. Somewhere between awake and unconscious, you've leaned your head against the wall and are trying unsuccessfully to disappear.

"Here's my list," Izzie says as she drops a pink scrap of paper proudly displaying "Hello Kitty" into your lap as she takes the chair next to you. As you pick it up, your eyes dart nervously around the small room, sure that this conversation, like so many recently, will escalate into a full-blown fight.

Derek throws a glance over his shoulder from the front row, and you're not sure if he simply didn't see you or if he's been deliberately avoiding you. He can't act like an ex boyfriend now, not when George has so readily taken on that role and all your other friends still give their disapproving looks whenever George is forced to be in the same 40-foot-radius of you. _Whore_. So what if no one says it? They're all thinking it. All the while he promised to act like a friend, but he's been giving you that look—halfway between disappointment and despair. What does it mean that he wasn't there this morning? Maybe he told Dr. McPerfect about the walks with the dirty-mistress-whore who broke her friend's heart.

You return to the list, trying to figure out what the hell Izzie's going on about now. It doesn't help that you didn't sleep last night.

"_Eggs… butter… chocolate frosting… bread… tampons… milk… toilet paper…"_

Unsure of what to say, you pass the list back to her. "It's not my turn. I bought last week," you explain.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

"Um, you're right, Meredith," she starts, her voice rising after each word. "Actually, it's George's week-"

"Izzie!" You hiss at her, and jerk your head towards Derek to remind her to just shut up. As you shoot your eyes towards him you see his jaw clench, though his eyes remain glued on Dr. Burke and the patient lying open on the cold metal table down below.

Not missing a beat she continues, her tone the same, thank God her volume's not. "But since it's your fault that George isn't here to do the shopping this week-"

"What? You want me to buy groceries two out of three weeks? Will that make you get over it? I mean, what the hell do I have to do to get it through your head that it was a mistake and I'm sorry?"

"Fix it," she orders. "Until then, you get George's grocery detail."

"Fine," you answer, voice tight. _ Damn her! Damn George too!_ You snatch the list from her hands and attempt to get out of there as fast as possible, but in your haste, you practically trip over Derek. He gives you that damn look again as he helps steady you and you glare in response. _And damn him too!_

As you storm out of the gallery you can't decide which of them has you more aggravated.

-o-

**Amused:**

"And it's not like I even asked for it," Christina vents, "I mean, what was I suppose to do?"

You smirk at her as you take a bite of your sandwich. It's hard not to laugh when she's carrying on like this.

"Oh shut up," she commands, still seething.

"Good thing it's a cool day," you observe as you pull your jacket tighter, "you're pretty steamed."

But Christina's clearly not amused, "Oh, you know what? I hate you. You know that right? I absolutely hate you."

"What'd Meredith do now?" Alex asks as he joins the two of you at the cafeteria table. You look over to the table by the door and see Izzie watching Alex pull out a chair and sit across from Christina. Stifling a laugh, you steal a glance at Izzie sitting alone in the cafeteria. It's hard not to feel vindicated when she's the one that demanded the other interns choose sides, and she's the one sitting alone. Why isn't she sitting with George?

"I didn't do anything," you answer. "Why is everything my fault?" It's a very fair question, considering how some of them have been acting recently.

"You've been screwing over everyone recently," he reasons. "So, ah… when's my turn?" He asks, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows. Christina snorts into her water. You throw a power bar with your left arm, and hit him with your right.

"Shut up," you say. Really, what kind of response can you give? It's funny, but it's hurtful, and laughing it off would only encourage him.

"Consider it as me helping you improve your bedside manner." God, he's in a mood today! "Dr. Yang," he asks seriously, "would you like me to assist you in mastering the bed…side manner?"

"I hate you too," she answers as she grabs for her cookie. She stares off at the door as she takes a bite and begins chewing.

The three of you sit there, chuckling together, and you realize how much you've missed this, you and your friends just playing around and joking. You try not to think about the two others that are missing.

"Oh crap! They've found me." Christina suddenly springs to her feet, struggling to gather up all of her things sprawled out on the table.

"What's wrong with her?" Alex asks. You motion towards the door as a large, middle-aged couple marches towards the three of you. Their eyes are bright and their smiles stretch ear-to-ear. It's disgusting.

"You'll get to meet the Hailers," you explain to Alex. He hasn't been subjected to their gratitude all morning. Thank goodness you were only there for rounds with Burke; poor Christina's been was to their case.

"The who?" He asks, still confused.

"Dr. Yang!" exclaims Mrs. Hailer as the pair flank Christina.

Seeing the look in Christina's eyes, Alex starts to laugh until you kick him from under the table. But you want to laugh too, and you bite down on your lip hard to keep from smiling. It's hard not the laugh when Christina's trying to escape human interaction.

"We just can't thank you enough for everything," Mr. Hailer starts, frantically shaking her hand. It's almost comedic, and you wonder if it'll fall off like in a cartoon from the rate he's going pumping it up and down.

"It's just, it's been, so… Thank you!" Ms. Hailer shouts, throwing an arm around Christina and drawing her in for a hug. Christina's head is shoved to the woman's breast as she and her husband break into an impromptu group-hug. Poor Christina's absolutely trapped.

Christina looks terrified. "Aww…" Alex gushes in his sarcastic, ass-hole drawl.

You glare at him and get back to your sandwich, trying to give Christina whatever bit of privacy you can afford her as she's undoubtedly experiencing her public humiliation. If you stop watching, maybe you'll stop shaking from the silent laughter.

When they finally leave, Christina collapses back into her chair, her head in her hands, clearly embarrassed. "God, I hate people."

"So Betty Hailer's being discharged?" you ask.

"Not a moment too soon," she groans.

"Dr. Yang, I guess I should be asking you to help me with my bedside manner," Alex notes.

You mean to say something, anything to try to make her feel better, but you dissolve into a fit of laughter after seeing her expression. You shouldn't laugh. You're a horrible friend.

"I hate both of you," she states.

But it's just so amusing that you can't help but laugh!

-o-

**Angry:**

"So what are our options?" Derek asks the three of us in the hall, unleashing the battle to win the chance at scrubbing in.

You had been trying constantly to apologize George all morning. With him avoiding you, this had been the first case you've shared in weeks. However, trying to assure him of your sincerity is pretty hard with Derek and Alex hanging around. With Alex being… Alex, and Derek shooting down everything suggestion you have, your good intentions, and your positive attitude are quickly shot.

While you and Alex go back and forth over the proper treatment, Derek turns to George, "O'Malley, what would you suggest?"

Alex mumbles something under his breath about George and his suggestions. Derek, however, approves of George's suggested procedure. "Excellent. O'Malley, you'll be scrubbing in. Schedule the procedure, and then take Mr. Parker and prep him for surgery—he and his wife seem to trust you. I'll see you in the OR."

George has to know you're looking at him, but he just thanks Derek and walks off and won't even turn your way. You watch him go, but quickly snap your focus back to the conversation.

"We're going to need an extra hand," Derek explains, "Dr. Grey, you'll be scrubbing in. Dr. Karev, you'll be monitoring my other patients."

Before you can recover from the shock of Derek actually choosing to put you and George together, and trying to quell the growing excitement that always comes with surgery, Alex alerts him to his error. "Dr. Shepherd," Alex starts. You stare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. He can't possibly be doing what you think he's doing. _'No Alex, don't do it. Don't be an ass,'_ you plead silently. But it's Alex, and whatever camaraderie you may share during lunch disappears when brain surgery is on the table. "Do you really think having O'Malley and Grey scrub in together for surgery would be a good idea?" Alex smirks, "I mean, it might not be in the patient's best interest."

Derek looks at you, and that look's back again. "I see your point, Dr. Karev. Dr. Grey, you'll monitor the floor. Dr. Karev, I'll see you in surgery." His eyes linger on you, but you look away, you're too upset to return his gaze. Instead you focus your wrathful gaze on Alex. All you can see is red. You hear Derek's footsteps retreating down the hall.

Grabbing Alex by the lapels of his lab coat, you drag him into the locker room, receiving the questioning glances of the passing nurses. Once in the locker room you push him onto a bench, standing above him with your arms crossed.

"What was that?"

"Dude, calm down," Alex insists. "It's nothing personal, but common, it's brain surgery."

"You have no heart! You're heartless! No wonder Izzie's always off with Burke's heart patient—at least he has one!" You know that was harsh, and you know you only brought up to piss him off. But seriously, if he ever deserved to hear that, it was now.

"Hey, you can be as mad as you want, but while you're making rounds, I'll be assisting in the OR." He's not angry! How on earth is he not furious from that? His lack of a reaction only serves to feed your anger.

"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?" You scream in frustration.

He smirks, "This coming from the girl that broke Bambi's spirit?"

He strides out, completely unperturbed by his betrayal. He broke the code. You can't remember which code, but surely, what he did, was breaking a code. You slam your palm into a locker while you seethe with anger.

-o-

**Annoyed**

"Are you angry with me?" Derek asks when the elevator doors finally slid shut.

"I'm not angry. I'm annoyed," you answer truthfully.

You both lapse into a silence. He's looking at you, you can feel it. But it's with that look, which doesn't help. And you're still annoyed with him, and this latest stint with George didn't help.

You give him a sideways glance, he's completely turned and is facing you. "What?" you finally ask.

"You are angry with me," he insists.

"No. I'm annoyed with you," you explain, barely concealing your displeasure. "You stood me up this morning, and then you threw me out of surgery."

"I didn't stand you up. I had a… thing."

"A thing?" you don't think you should believe him.

"Yeah," he maintains, but offers no other explaination. Leaning towards you he whispers, "Would I stand you up?"

"You did," you point out. "And kicking me out of surgery doesn't make up for it."

He laughs, thinking this is some sort of game. But you're annoyed and it's not funny today.

"So I take it George is still mad at you." _'Why is he fishing for information?' _you wonder.

"What are you being like this, Derek?" hiding the edge in your voice is pointless by now.

"Like what?" he asks as though this is still a game.

"Like…" but you can't say it. No matter how annoyed, you can't make it awkward by actually saying it… can you? "Like…" You can't concentrate with him wearing that amused expression leaning towards you. You're starting to stutter.

"Like...?" he supplies.

"Like non-friendly!" you finally say. Ouch, it sounds harsher than you intented.

He takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest, stunned by this accusation. "I'm very friendly," he insists.

"Right," you snort. The elevator doors 'ding' and you exit, shoving your hands into the pockets of your lab coat. You walk briskly down the hall, but you can hear him running to catch up with you.

"I am," he continues, sounding completely content, despite you insulting him and then walking away from him. "Would I be this concerned if I wasn't friendly?"

With this, you turn and face him, stopping dead in the hallway to drop the bombshell on him. But seriously, there's no way he can't see this coming:

"You're acting like my ex-boyfriend, not my friend." This confession stings. He looks completely shocked and pulls back from you. Strangely, you feel no remorse—you're actually glad he's hurt. It's good to know he still feels something. "Don't give me that look you've been giving me all day." He doesn't respond, but his eyebrows climb higher as he silently dares you to continue. "That look where you're so disappointed in me, but you can't justify it by being outright upset, so you give me this disapproving look whenever you see me."

"I'm not-"

"You are. And it's annoying. And you're annoying. And if you won't kick anyone else out of surgery for whatever problems they're having with another intern, you shouldn't kick me out of surgery either. Because that's annoying too. And you're annoying me."

You pivot, whipping your ponytail around. Secretly, you hope it hit him in the face—just to emphasize your displeasure. Striding away you hear him answer, "You're annoying me, too."

You look back, and smile. He smiles back with a bemused grin. You're annoyed, and he's annoying, but he's still Derek. "You owe me a surgery. Don't forget!"

"But I thought I was annoying?"

"You are," you smile back. _God, he's so freaking annoying!_

-o-

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_A/N: I'm sure I ruffled some feathers with 'Annoyed' but don't get me wrong, I adore MerDer, but if it's not happening in the show, it's not happening here…unless these characters lead me there… but… we'll see._


	2. Set II

_I should've been studying…and my professors will not take "Grey's Anatomy" as a valid excuse._

_A/N: If you haven't read Set I, it has been updated and now includes all 5 moods. Additional Author's Note at the end.  
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_Thank you for reading!_

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Sets II consists of: Anxious, Apathetic, Artistic, Awake, Bitchy, and Blah; and was written post _"Superstition."_

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**Shades of Grey**

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**Anxious:**

_Tap…tap…tap, tap_…

You tap your foot in an agitated, uneven rhythm as you watch the numbers lighten and dim. Nervously looking around the lobby, you begin to fidget. You straighten your jacket, then your bag, then your shirt. _'Stop it!'_ you chide yourself, _'Stop being ridiculous! It's not going to happen today!'_ But no amount of reason can calm your nerves as you stand, anxiously waiting for the elevator to creep down.

3… You can't believe you're acting like this. But here you are, looking over your shoulder, paranoid and tense, waiting for the elevator so you can escape… if only for a little while. _Tap, tap-tap, tap_… It's too bad that you're still certain that any attempt will be completely fruitless.

2… _taptaptaptap-tap-taptap_…Your speed increases to a constant, erratic patter. Wringing your hands, you look over your shoulder again. Trying to stop your nervous habit, you stamp your shoe on the ground and rock back and forth on your feet.

1… Shoving your hands into your pockets you throw your hair back, determined to look more confident than you feel…

Ding! _ Finally!_

"Meredith!"

_God, why me?_

"Addison!" you smile brightly, taking the offering from her. As the two of you enter the elevator, you punch the button while she juggles the remaining two cups of ju-ju. What started as some sort of comfort ritual after the death of a patient quickly progressed to hot cocoa every morning—the same routine you've had for the past four mornings.

The elevator slowly crawls to life and the two of you lapse into an uneasy silence. Reminding yourself to not tap your foot, you take one sip from the Styrofoam cup and wait for her to pose the initial question so the ritual to continue.

"How is it?" she tentatively asks.

"Great!" you reply, a little too enthusiastically. Hopefully she won't notice how forced the smile is, or the awkward edge in your voice. You remind yourself that she hasn't seemed to notice that you always praise her cocoa as 'great.'

"Great," she repeats, nodding her head slightly.

You can't help but wonder why trying to be friends is so important to her, but regardless of her reasons, it's not like you're going to be rude. It's not fair that you can't hate her. It's not fair that she's actually a decent person. This is ju-ju thing seems important to her, so however awkward or anxious this exchange makes you, you take your turn in the dance and ask the same question you've asked four times before.

"So how are your patients?"

You listen as she goes on about the minute details of each patient and updates you on their status since your last elevator ride. Yesterday must've been a slow day for her, because as she finishes her descriptions, you notice you're still expecting the arriving _"ding"_ to sound.

The silence stretches on for a few agonizing seconds. Unsure of what to do now that the ritual's over, you ask the first thing that springs to mind:

"How's Doc?" _Crap!_ Why did you choose to open that can of worms?

"Oh, he's great!" she beams, talking about the animal as if he were a child. The proud mother-- you think she'd fit that role well. "He positively loves having all that space to run around in. But, I think he likes Derek more than me. He's definitely more excited on the mornings Derek walks him, almost like he's expecting something. But, yeah, he's great. You should come visit him sometime."

Is that a hint? Does she know, and is expecting you to fess up? Or… is she just trying to be nice? You're not sure, but as you walk out of the elevator together your stomach tightens anticipating your next conversation together. But you'd rather be dead than have her know that. You'll keep the act up as long as necessary, no matter how weird it is. Maybe that's all it really is, an act.

"Well, have a good day," you offer.

"Bye Meredith," she smiles, uncertain.

"Bye Addison," you grin back.

Once she's around the corner you dump the cup of cocoa into the nearest trash can. No matter how anxious you feel whenever you're around her, you still can't bring yourself to tell her that her ju-ju tastes like crap.

-o-

**Apathetic:**

"You're not drinking your cocoa," Derek observes as he approaches you. He takes a sip from his cup, but then pushes the near-full cup across the counter towards you.

You stare at the lone cup, before shifting your gaze to him. He's expecting you do take a sip and join him in this playful game. Usually, you would. _'After all,'_ you reason, _'it's what friends do—and we're friends.'_ But today you've got other things on your mind. "I don't do ju-ju," you state before turning your attention back towards charts, effectively silencing him with your indifference. You shift, facing the counter, while flipping through pages.

He leans on his elbows, dropping his head lower and whispering conspiratorially: "She thinks you're going to be friends."

_So it's not an act._ You grab a different chart, "Yep."

He seems put off by your lack of a response, but rather than answering, he opens a discarded chart and pretends to study it, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye.

"Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Shepherd?" you ask in a monotone, not even removing your eyes from the page before you.

You see his jaw drop slightly before he goes on the defensive. Peripheral vision's a bitch. "So we're back to Dr. Shepherd?"

"No," you assure him, grabbing a neighboring file, "I'm working,"

"So am I," he smiles. He's clearly in a good mood, and finds your disinterest the latest challenge in your ongoing game. He just stands there, leaning on the counter smiling at you, until after a beat; he realizes that you haven't so much as looked at him. Sighing, he reclaims his cocoa. "Nice talking to you, Dr. Grey," he breathes as he turns to leave.

"Yeah," is your only response.

In some small, isolated sector of your brain, it occurs to you how coldly you just treated him. Surely you've confused him. But you couldn't care less as you continue to flip through files, charts, and labs until you finally find the answer you need, and take it off to show Bailey before rounds.

-o-

**Artistic:**

"What's wrong Ally?" you ask the red-faced little girl with curly hair in a matching shade. You stand in the doorway, surprised that the little girl was left all alone… again.

"Nottin'" she sniffles, whipping her face with her sleeve.

"Nothing?" you ask, as you grab a Kleenex and sit on the bed and run the tissue under her pink eyes. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she whimpers.

She looks so small and alone in the large empty room, reminding you just how fragile the four-year-old is considering her diagnosis. She's terrified and all alone. You can't imagine going through so much at such a young age, especially with parents that try to comfort themselves by distancing themselves from their daughter… well… okay, you can understand that part.

"Okay, but if you want to talk to me, you can, okay?"

"Mkay, Mere."

Turning to leave her room, you look at the sterile, white walls and the bright, empty expanse. No child should be forced to be left alone in a room like this. "You know what I was thinking, Ally?"

She shakes her head, clearly confused that you're still paying attention to her. You remind yourself not to take this out on her parents when the finally come back.

"We need some pictures in here. Can you help me with that?"

She nods, confused, but interested. You leave, promising to return as soon as you can. After finishing your rounds, you steal away to Pediatrics. When you return, you're carrying a ream of paper and a shoebox full of assorted crayons and markers.

"So what are we drawing?" you ask her as you drag a chair up to her bedside. After giving you instructions to draw a tree, Ally begins work on her bright orange butterfly. "I can't draw the branches," she explains, and then proceeds to tell you the gravity of having a pretty tree for her pictures. Selecting a brown crayon, you start on the trunk, every so often lifting up your page for her approval and critique.

Following your tree you draw a mountain, the sun, a lake, a rabbit, purple flowers, and blue clouds. As Ally puts the finishing touches on her pink house, she shyly asks if you wouldn't mind hanging up the pictures.

Half the stack is taped up—adorning the walls when you spy a familiar face watching you from the interior window. You smile at him, but George just turns and walks away. His determination to prove his point still overtakes any forgiveness, and your shoulders slump in frustration.

"How's your house coming, Ally?"

You think you hear her mumble "good," but she's so focused on her coloring, that you wonder if she heard you at all. Face screwed in concentration and her tongue just barely sticking out of her mouth, she wears the same attentive look that Derek gets when he's trying to find the cure for a patient. Shaking the thought from your mind, you survey the landscape on the plain hospital wall.

Surgery and pictures—it's all art, you figure, just with different names for the artists and with different canvasses.

"Done!" Ally proudly announces, slapping her green turtle on the tray for emphasis.

After all the pictures are posted and Ally settles down for a nap, you exit the room to find Bailey just outside the doorway.

"You've been in there awhile, Grey."

You both stand there admiring the pictures on the wall until you break the silence:

"No child should be ignored just because her parents don't want to deal with her."

At this, Bailey looks you up and down, obviously suspicious of your statement, but she doesn't comment. You're thankful, you'd rather not delve into your scarred childhood with anyone, especially not The Nazi.

"It looks better with the pictures," she concedes. But she has to wonder "Which ones are yours?"

You point out which pictures you drew. "You're quite the artist, Grey. Now get ready, you're scrubbing in with me," she tells you before heading off to the OR.

Taking one last look at the sleeping girl surrounded by her artwork, you admit to yourself, "Yeah… I am."

-o-

**Awake:**

You lean back on the brick wall, hearing your scrubs scrape against the uneven concrete, drowning out the faraway sounds of the frantic motion of the hospital. You pull your dangling legs up, tucking them under you on the hard gurney. Eyelids slide closed. '_Just 5 minutes_,' you promise.

The squeak of sneakers on a cold linoleum floor draws closer, but you refuse to open your eyes. You feel Christina flop down on the gurney next to you.

"God, I'm so tired. I need a surgery," she fumes. "What's wrong with you?"

"Shut up," you mumble, eyes still closed. You so do not need her talking right now.

Another pair of shoes starts towards the two of you. Silently, you pray it's not Izzie… or Alex… or George. Hell, you hope the person will fall and break their neck before they can reach you. Then maybe you'd have a shot at scrubbing in, and then you'd be full of adrenaline and awake. But until then, all you want is five minutes of sleep.

"Have you see George?" Izzie asks.

_Damn._

"Um, hello? Do you see who I'm with?" Christina sneers at her. You try to pretend that you're asleep, hoping that just maybe they'll either stop talking or ignore you. Or both.

"Ugh, Meredith, haven't you made up with him yet?"

You snap to attention. Tired as you are, you won't sleep while she attacks you. "Yes! I've apologized every day for the past week, okay? Now just let me sleep," you slump back against the wall.

"What's wrong with her?" Izzie asks, struggling with a plastic snack bag.

"I'm right here," you remind her.

"God, Meredith, drink some coffee or something," Christina barks.

"Been there. Done that."

"Why aren't my interns in their locker room like I told them to be?" Bailey bursts into the hallway. But she's not one to wait for your excuses, "Dr. Shepherd needs someone to scrub in OR 5."

"Who's the patient?" you ask as Christina and you battle to be the first off of the gurney.

"Ally Gumptan."

Instantly alert, you're running down the hall. "I'm going," you inform them. You can envision the scene behind you as you speed off: Bailey looking annoyed at an intern running off before she can give you instructions, Izzie glaring at you as she silently curses you for stealing a surgery, and Christina wearing a look of incredulous horror at the situation.

"Hey," Derek breezes in while you're washing your hands.

"Hey," you smile back before turning your concentration back to the sink. "Do you think she'll make it?" you ask.

He's clearly nervous, although he won't admit it. "It's a complicated procedure," he concedes, and a part of you think he's afraid to make an assumption.

"But you don't know?"

"No, I don't know."

The sound of running water trickles off, and you wait for your hands to air dry. You turn towards the OR, and find Derek staring at you.

"What?" you ask, slightly annoyed.

"Do you want some coffee?"

"Why? Do I look tired?" you snap.

He half laughs as he tells you that you don't look tired at all. You're not sure if you should believe him or not.

Taking your place in surgery you hear Derek spout his mantra, "All right everybody…" as you look around the room, and glance up to the gallery you can't help but smile. This is why you're here.

The lack of sleep is completely forgotten, and you're completely awake.

-o-

**Bitchy**

"Who died?" Alex asks nonchalantly in that cocky, ass-hole sort of way he's so fond of as he rummages through his locker.

Christina shoots him a death-glare and you pull your head up from where it's cradled in your hands.

"You're an ass," Christina informs him, picking up her discarded scrubs and shoving them into her locker.

Staring at your clothes on the bench in front of you, you try to think of how long you've been sitting there. The surgery must've been over an hour ago. Sighing, you lethargically grab them and head off to the bathroom to change from your scrubs.

"What's wrong with her?" you hear Alex ask as you leave.

In the small bathroom you stare into the mirror. Eyes rimmed in red, hair a mess, you don't even recognize yourself. Forcing yourself into motion, you change and splash water on your face. Another intern starts into the bathroom before you can completely get out. Her slamming the door behind you forces you into the person walking past you… George.

You both stare at each other awkwardly. _'Of course, he's still not speaking to me.'_ He wears that pained deer-in-the-headlights look before he turns away, rushing off towards his locker.

"George, get over it," Alex mocks. And then something inside of you snaps.

"Alex," you say, straining to keep your voice level. He turns towards you with a half-smile, smug. He's always smug. "When are you going to realize that no one here likes you?" Suddenly you realize that the locker room of interns has gone strangely silent, as if they're all holding a collective breath, waiting for the explosion. You don't keep them waiting long:

"You stand there all-knowing, like everyone here owes you something. It's pathetic! So Izzie broke up with you! So everyone here likes George more than you! Get over it. Stop being such an ass, and grow up, and stop wasting everyone's time!" Feeling your face growing red, you snatch your bag, and shove the stray drawings into it, and storm out, leaving the strained silence behind you.

-o-

**Blah**

"You said what?" Derek asks when you tell him what you just did behind the closed doors of the elevator.

"I don't know what I was thinking," you admit, pulling your slipping bag back onto your shoulder. He's standing close to you—too close in fact. You can almost smell his cologne.

"Where are you going?" you ask. He's still in scrubs, and you wonder if he's on call all night or if he's just avoiding going home. Sometimes you wish he wouldn't tell you things, and the time he told you he enjoyed being at the hospital more than being at home cursed you by giving you hope, despite promising yourself that it's time to move on.

"I have to go tell her parents," he says, simply. He doesn't need to explain who. After Ally died on the table you just stood there mute. Later, Derek told you that you stood there in shock for a good fifteen minutes before you realized where you were. You stare at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling trying to blink back the tears.

"Why weren't they here?" you wonder aloud. "I mean, most families can't wait for news, and they weren't even at the hospital."

"Some people just aren't good parents," he reasons.

Thinking of your mother, you snicker, "Tell me about it."

"Meredith," he asks, touching your arm slightly, "are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Shuffling through your bag, you pull out the stack of pictures. You thrust the papers into his hands, but reclaim the top picture of the orange butterfly. He looks at you questioningly, and you grudgingly explain about the pictures as the two of you exit the elevator, walking towards the lobby.

Noticing your attitude he says just as you're leaving, "Meredith, if you want to talk-"

"I'll see you tomorrow morning with Doc, okay?" you answer, forcing a smile before you head off towards your car.

Fumbling with your keys, you unlock your car door and slide into the driver's seat. _'Why?'_ you wonder as you sit there, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. As you sit in solitude, you find no answer, and have no response.

-o-

* * *

_A/N: Slightly depressing, I know, but… the words dictate the story. About Set II: I really liked the idea of Addison genuinely trying to be friends with Meredith, although I maintain, since Derek and Meredith both only took one sip from the ju-ju, that her cocoa tastes like crap. The who sub-story about the Ally character arose from me needing a way to get Meredith coloring, and her dying, sad as it was, was a perfect way to bring about the Alex smackdown I wanted. I'm very excited about the comedy element in "Name of the Game," because, I'd like to write some lighthearted scenes next week._

_Again, thanks for reading! Feedback is treasured and loved._


	3. Set III

Author's Note at the end.

-o-

Sets III consists of: Blank, Bored, Bouncy, Busy, and Calm; and was written post _"Name of the Game."_

-o-

**Shades of Grey**

-o-

**Blank:**

You stare at the blank, white, speckled ceiling, your mind completely devoid of a coherent thought. The rain patters against the bedroom window, obscuring the faint moonlight with shifting shadows across the room. The air that hovers in the room is stagnant and empty, almost as empty as you feel. You're a sink with an open drain. If you squint at the speckles long enough through the night, eventually you can see shapes. There's your forth grade teacher, and the rabbit you had when you were twelve, and in the far corner you can see a boat and a gavel.

You saw your father today.

You have a sister.

Two sisters, in fact.

And a step mother.

'_Cinderella, my ass,'_ you think.

If only it were so simple: the father remarried a witch and left you with two evil half-sisters. Your prince in shining armor would leave his wife and carry you away on a white horse.

Reality is so less cut and dry.

Rolling over, you glance at the alarm clock. The red digital numbers boldly display "2:53 a.m." Just over an hour and a half until you have to get up and shower before pre-rounds.

How did this happen?

Now you'll be scurrying through the corridors of the hospital, trying to avoid George, your father, Callie, your sister, Izzie, everyone.

Where did life go wrong?

Slumping back into the mattress, you flop back onto your stomach, burying your nose into the pillow. You can smell your shampoo, and the scent to sweat of a hard day's work, and just barely, concealed by the other smells is _him_. Still… after all this time. Twenty-nine washings later; after the ages since he's been in your bed, you can still smell him. The scent of the endless string of one-night-stands had long since faded, but that one smell, that horridly wonderful scent still stains your pillows.

'_What's wrong with me?'_ you ask yourself in despair.

You used to have such high expectations of where you'd be now. And now… you don't know. A father you've hardly seen in twenty years and his perfect family. The ex-lover and his perfect wife. The interns and their perfectly screwed up ex-friend. You fit quite perfectly into this perfectly screwed up tale.

_Life sucks._

_Seriously._

"3:37"

You think you'd cry if it wasn't you can't feel a thing. The thought of going another 48 hours with no sleep makes your stomach compress and hurt with dread, but there's nothing you can do. Sleep remains the elusive companion.

Sighing to yourself, you ease yourself into a sitting position, your empty eyes sweeping across the walls of your bedroom. _'Here goes nothing,'_ you tell yourself, as you swing your feet onto the cold wood floor.

You hear the '_blip, blip, blip_' of your feet as they flop down and pull up from the floor as you pad around the room, throwing the comforter to the headboard, and searching for fresh clothes.

Kicking dirty shirts and pants across the room, you rummage through the dresser and throw clothes behind you on the bed. The colors are muted in the morning light, and you can't be sure if your clothes will even match. But as tired as you are, you couldn't care less. Walking towards the bathroom, you see the light peering out from under Izzie's door, and make a mental note to walk quieter, lest she hear you.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you slide down to the floor, resting your head against your knees in a makeshift fetal position.

'_What am I doing with my life?' 'Who am I?' 'Do I even matter to anyone?'_

You can't remember feeling this way, not since the hormones kicked in when you were in sixth grade. But somehow, this doesn't compare with adolescent angst. You feel utterly overwhelmed by the turn you're your life has taken: your mother cheated on your father, and she the only time she ever smiles is when she regresses into her memories as a surgeon. Your father abandoned you and emerges with a wife, a family. Even the man you thought would be your future, your family, has his own wife.

'_Why was I left alone? Why am I always left?'_

You try to cry, anything to break the tension weighing down on you. Breathing heavily, you knock your head against the door. Eventually you make your way to the shower and throw the faucet hard to the left, steam and spray filling the small room.

Once in the shower, you lean against the wall and let the stream of water wash away the silent, empty tears.

It's everything and it's nothing, and it leaves you feeling ultimately blank.

-o-

**Bored:**

_Over, under, over, under, over, under, over, under…_ You screw your face up in concentration, hoping that if you keep at it, eventually it will become the most fascinating task you've ever put your mind to.

Izzie clangs around the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors closed and banging bowls and spoons onto the countertop. "And do you know what she said to me, Meredith?" she shouts, glaring at you as if this is all your fault. "She made it sound like it's my fault you broke George's spirit!"

_Over, under, over, under, over, under, over… _You bob your head up and down rapidly, not so much in agreement, but trying to keep her assuming that this conversation is just as important to you. "Yep," you affirm as you struggle with the wooden knitting needles.

"I mean, just because I encouraged him to tell you how he felt, does not mean that this is my fault. I mean, it's not like I slept with him. Ortho Chick had no right! And besides, Meredith, when are you going to make him move back in here?" she questions, cracking eggs into the bowl and attacking them with the whisk.

"So this is all my fault?" you huff, trying not to break your concentration on the row of uneven stitches before you.

"Yes!" she shouts.

This is getting old, really old. "You know Izzie, I may have slept with him, but do you think that you just pushed him because you never thought I'd do anything, and he'd always be clinging to you?"

_Shit! _ You need to remember to censor your thought process, but the hypnotic rhythm of the clinking needles is distracting, and frankly, this isn't a conversation she hasn't started every day for the past few weeks. It's been building up, waiting to spill over.

The sound of the whisk scraping against the bowl slows, and you try to compensate for this lack of activity by ducking your head back down and increasing the speed of your knitting.

_Over, under, over, under, over, under…_

"You should be more supportive. This is hard on me too, you know."

"Sorry," you concede.

Gradually the tempo of her whisking picks back up. "I just miss my best friend," she admits.

"I know," you assure her. If only you could be more emotionally invested in this conversation. But you're not an emotional person when it comes to these girly conversations, and Izzie makes up for that in spades. You've got your own problems, and her harping on you really isn't what you'd like to wake up to each morning.

You hear the sound of the pancake batter as it sizzles on the skillet and feel the table shake as she drops two plates in front of you. "Why can't things just go back to the way they were?" she wonders aloud.

_Amen!_ But seriously, 4:20 is too early for philosophical conversations of this nature, and it's not like Izzie's going to accept her share of the blame in this… ever. Without your answer, her focus shifts to the yarn in your hand. "Are you still trying to knit?"

_Over, under, over, under, over…_

"Yep."

"Gosh Meredith, I didn't think you'd actually stick with this," she confesses, flipping the pancakes, and setting out the glasses.

_Over, under, over, under…_

"You mean you didn't think I could replace sex with anything productive?"

"Well," she stutters, "yeah. I'm actually impressed with you. I thought you'd think knitting was boring."

"Yep."

"George will come around," she reassures herself. "Eventually he'll get sick of Psyco Doc and then he'll move back in and everything will be back to normal. I mean, Ortho Chick is a total freak, and this is probably just some quarter-life crisis or something. Sure, it'll take a while for the two of you to be friends again, but it will."

You remember a time when Christina proclaimed Izzie the Queen of Fantasy Land, and try not to start laughing at the memory. The last thing you need is your sole remaining roommate to be even angrier at you.

"I mean, I get that she likes him and all," she continues, "but she's so…"

"Weird, I know," you finish.

"Good, so you think so too," Izzie sighs in relief.

_Over, under, over…_

It's probably best if you don't tell her that you weren't agreeing with her. Dr. Torres hates you enough as it is. You fiddle more with the needles as Izzie flips the pancakes onto the plates. She sets her plate at her seat, and slides your plate across the hardwood surface.

Increasing your speed in a vain attempt to finish the row before breakfast begins, you start pulling at the stitches, making the even more uneven and clumsy than ever.

_Over, under…_

"Common, Meredith. Eat!" Izzie commands, snatching her fork and knife as she attacks her food, frustrated at you, and the whole living situation.

_Over…_

"Screw it," you mumble, tossing the knitting needles to the side and grabbing the butter dish.

Knitting's boring anyway!

-o-

**Bouncy:**

Derek slides into the seat next to you in the gallery, still holding his cup of cocoa. You inhale his familiar scent as his foot grazes yours and you try to quell the fluttering feeling in your abdomen. _No more McDreamy!_ You've promised yourself, and you're going to keep that promise. Reminding yourself, you fiddle with the pair of wooden needles again, steeling yourself against the forthcoming flirting. _ 'You're just friends now, remember?' _ you remind yourself.

"So when is that going to become a sweater?" he nudges you with his shoulder, laughing slightly.

You hold up your large expanse of knitted yarn. Unfortunately, Izzie never really gave you much instruction after you learned the basics of casting on and off. "I, uh, think I'm making a scarf now," you confess.

"Ah," he replies. "Well, as your friend, I remain concerned over this new obsession. And, I need to voice my concern over this… as a friend."

You laugh as you begin on the next row. "It's not an obsession," you inform him, "it's redirecting my energy."

"You're redirecting sexual energy into knitting?" he asks. You can tell he's trying to keep a straight face, he doesn't believe you. Hell, sometimes you don't know if you believe yourself, but you're determined.

"I don't have to answer that," you giggle. _Crap!_ Did you seriously just giggle?

He laughs, leaning slightly towards you. Such a small movement, you pray no one else notices it. He's absolutely shameless. "Did you check on Doc last night?" he asks.

You're grateful for the dim lights in the gallery, and for the early hour. Only a few other doctors ventured up to the gallery so early this morning. If your luck holds, Derek won't notice the pink color rushing to your cheeks as you think about just what happened last night. McCharming: that's your nickname for the attractive vet you met last night. You bite your lip and lower your head, your loose hair obstructing Derek's view of your face. He cannot see you blushing.

"Yeah, I did," you answer, hoping that he'll assume that you're trying to get a good view of your craft project in the dim light.

Thankfully, he's completely unaware of the internal battle waging inside of you, "Oh, good, so how's he doing?"

"Fine," you respond immediately. It's terrifying to think that he might learn just how little you thought about Doc while you were at the vet's office yesterday.

He leans towards you, almost whispering in your ear. You can feel his breath on your neck, and you can't tell if it's his physical nearness or the question that causes your reaction: "So as your friend, and co-owner of your dog, I have to ask: what did you think of the vet that I found?"

You jump slightly, almost falling out of your chair. The sharp pain you feel tells you that you just knocked heads with Derek. "Ouch!" he hisses.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you exclaim. "I didn't realize you were sitting so close," you tell him, and hope above all else that he'll reason that away as your excuse for your miniature freak-out.

"He's, ah, he seems nice," you answer. He turns and you're trapped under his unwavering gaze. "He's taking good care of Doc, which is all that matters," you tell him. Thinking about yesterday in the waiting room is making your stomach knot up again, and that long-dormant feeling of butterflies is returning…

"Meredith, are you feeling okay?" Derek questions, while he rubs the spot on his head that collided with yours. "You're face is all red."

"Oh, is it? Yeah, my head really hurts. I think I should go," you tell him, gathering up your knitting needles and shoving them into your bag.

But Derek grasps at your arm to stop you, "Well, let me check it out."

"No, I'm good," you plaster a wide smile across your face as you jump out of your seat. "See ya," you call out as you bound out of the small gallery. You tell yourself the bounce in your step is just a result of the caffeine, or Derek sitting so close to you, or the weather, or you being on edge with your father so near. Anything to try to quell the growing thoughts and feelings for Vet McCharming.

-o-

**Busy:**

Christina bites into her sandwich at the isolated table the two of you sit at in the cafeteria, "So have you seen your family today?"

You look up from your record-breaking long scarf and narrow your eyes to tiny slits in an attempt to convey your displeasure with the turn the conversation has taken.

"Okay, sorry," she mumbles, mouth still full of food. "I just figured you'd be hanging around near there trying to get the dirt."

"I've had a lot to do today." As if that would justify why you've been avoid Molly's room. Even Addison asked if you were okay.

"That's crap," Christina informs you. "Your guy got discharged today, you're avoiding them."

"I am not!" you indignantly respond. "I've had a lot on my plate today. Bailey's been on my case all week."

"She's still trying to be the Nazi?" Christina asks taking a sip from her water bottle.

You nod your head as you hold out the long panel of fabric, inspecting the uneven loops. Christina tells you that she doesn't believe you as you continue to examine your scarf.

"It looks nice," a voice from behind you compliments your handwork. Turning around you see Addison standing above you, smiling. Christina shoots you an odd look as you smile awkwardly back at the She-Shepherd, silently thanking her.

"Listen, if you have some free time today, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me when I check on Molly Thompson this afternoon," Addison offers.

"I… uh… can't," you stammer. "I have… labs. Bailey asked me to check on a bunch of labs… and I have to write post-op notes, and… my patients, so… I swamped, and I can't. I'm sorry."

You see her smile turn to more of a grimace; she's trying to conceal her surprise and disappointment. She gives you some line about how if you have free time she hopes to see you, and then leaves you and Christina to finish your lunch. Well, Christina to finish her lunch, and you to your knitting.

"Dude, is she still trying to be your friend?" Christina snickers.

"Not trying, I really think she thinks we are," you answer. "It's weird, right?"

"Definitely. You're not really that busy, are you?"

"Yes… no… I don't know," you mumble. "I am busy."

"You're so not," Christina cuts to the heart of the issue: "You're such a bad liar. You just don't want to see Daddy Dearest."

"No. That's not it," you tell her. "I'm busy."

"Right," Christina breathes sarcastically, "sure you are."

"I am," you repeat, trying to convince yourself that it's the true reason you're avoiding Molly's room.

-o-

**Calm:**

The soft hum of voices and people hurrying across the lobby fills the foyer. The comforting buzz of activity is as comforting as the familiar pattern of the entrance chairs. You trace the tiny geometric pattern with your index finger, while your left hand clutches a worn photograph:

_You're three years old, in a dress white dress with yellow flowers, pigtails and all, hanging in a tire swing. Your father stands behind you smiling in his blue sweater, arms outstretched to steady you lest you fall._

Sucking in a deep breath, you close your eyes, hoping sheer will can calm your thundering heart and close the floodgates of your eyes.

_Just breathe… in… out… in…_

You observe the passing families as they make their way to the various wings of the hospital. But the vision of loving families is just too painful. You flip the photograph face-down, running your fingernail over the textured surface of the cushion erratically.

Sensing someone coming towards you, you glance up just in time to see him making his way towards you, looking scared, yet resolute. His wife stands apprehensively in the background, and for a fleeting moment, you feel bad for her having to see him looking so concerned on your behalf. You can only imagine everything you represent to her.

"Meredith-" he starts. But he's too far away from you to stop you from leaving.

Snatching your bag, you speed off in an opposite direction of the lobby, purposely letting the picture flutter from your hands to the floor. Safely away and hiding behind a large pillar, you risk turning around to see the scene you left behind.

He sits, stunned, staring at the photograph while his wife lowers herself into the chair beside him, rubbing his shoulders supportively in a slow, comforting motion. You release a breath you hadn't been aware you were holding, grateful for this vision of regret. Maybe he'll understand how you feel. God knows you wonder if you'll ever understand his feelings…

You sneak away from your hiding place, and lumber up the stairs feeling relief and release. As you reach the top of the stairs you glance over to see Derek standing statuesque over the lobby. His focus trained on your father, and you wonder how long he's been standing there, and if he was watching you before.

"Hey," you greet timidly.

He turns and smiles at you warmly, although clearly uncertain, "Hey."

You take your place beside him, leaning on the railing, watching your father below. "Are you okay?" he asks eventually, concerned and worried.

"Yeah," you answer honestly. "I think I am." You watch as your father eventually rises, and he and his wife walk away. Despite the feelings of regret and nostalgia for your short, carefree happy childhood captured in the faded picture, you feel at peace. And although you feel no joy at this revelation or this uncomfortable situation you've been thrown in, you feel a sense of calm. "I'm okay," you reassure him.

He smiles, noticeably relieved. As you stare at him, the world around you forgotten, he raises his hand to reach out to you, but hesitates, and pulls away. "If you need anything, or if you just want to talk…" he trails off.

"I know," you smile back. "Thank you. But I really am okay."

He smiles back before he excuses himself, heading off to surgery.

Walking away from the lobby, you smile to yourself. Life is messy, but that's just how it is. And you feel completely accepting of your situation. You don't know how you'll feel tomorrow or the day after that, but for now…

You feel utterly calm.

-o-

_A/N: Okay, so "Name of the Game" was good… but I'm ready for some happiness for Meredith. Hopefully last week was a major turning point in how she handles situations (ie, not getting wasted and having a one-night-stand). I hope I conveyed that in this set. Character development is really my goal in this—I love the idea of exploring her as a character. She's a really dynamic, flawed character! But no matter what happens with COD's character (because I truly think he's just a means to an end) or anything that happens in the coming episodes, I still maintain that Derek will try to be there for Meredith no matter what. Thanks for reading, please R&R!_


	4. Set IV

Author's Note at the end. 

-o-

Set IV consists of: Cheerful, Chipper, Cold, Complacent, and Confused; and was written post _"Blues For Sister Someone."_

-o-

**Shades of Grey**

-o-

**Cheerful:**

You slam the driver's door shut, shaking your loose strands from your face as you cast the heavy bag over your shoulder. Right as you drop your keys into the bottomless pit of your shoulder bag, you hear the familiar chirping of your cell.

Rushing to the main entrance, you feel your way through the random papers, tubes of lipstick, and clothing littering your makeshift purse. Finally you feel your fingers graze the smooth plastic of your phone.

You flip open the cover, frantically before the final ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Finn's cheerful voice greets you. Immediately you find yourself smiling in response, grinning as you dodge the stray puddles peppering the lot. It's strange how something as simple as a phone call completely brightens your morning. You feel your head lifting to look at more than the space near your feet, and your pace quickens.

Listening to Finn give the latest report on Doc, you pause before breeze through the automatic doors, the clicking of your heels measuring your progress. "So he'll be fine?" you ask, hopeful he'll promise you the health of your dog.

"I don't know, Meredith," he confesses. "I still have to run some more tests—it may be more than a virus. But I promise to call you the minute I know."

"Minute?" you're amused.

"Second," he amends.

You laugh, scratch that, you giggle. Glancing at the ceiling, you bite your lip, wondering just why you have been giggling so much recently. Barely containing a smile as Finn's voice brings you back to your conversation, as you head off to the elevator:

"Meredith?"

"Sorry. I was just distracted. I mean, not distracted. I'm not saying that… that I-"

"Don't apologize," he tells you, sounding somewhere between bemused and interested in what caused you to space out. "So are we still on for dinner?"

Spotting the opening, you hurry to the closing steel doors. "Yeah, I'll come by when I get off to check on him first," you reply, rushing into the elevator.

"Then dinner?"

"Then dinner," you laugh.

"Great," Finn answers, "I have to go check on some papers before my 8:30 comes in, and you need to get to work."

"Yeah," you mumble, not wanting the conversation to end, but you punch the button and wait for the doors to close anyway. Glancing at the only other occupant of the lift, you offer a small smile to Derek. He looks at the floor.

"Bye Meredith," you hear through your phone.

Grinning despite your company you answer: "Bye Finn," flipping your phone closed, keeping it in your hand, trying to hold on to the best part of your day just a little longer. But once the phone call ends, you don a forced, tight smile.

"Morning Derek," you greet him.

He doesn't answer, doesn't look at you. His gaze simply moves from his shoes to the panel of buttons. Eyes cold and narrow, jaw clinched, he looks furious, and you know it. _'What the hell is your problem?'_ you think, wondering just how much righteous anger he actually feels entitled to. _Some friend indeed!_

The elevator slows, and as the doors slid open, you make a second attempt at being the bigger person as he walks in front of you, "Bye Derek."

He turns at halts you with his gaze. His eyes narrowed, piercing you with the most reproachful, loathing glare you've ever received. You release a long breath, defeated. Shrugging your shoulders at his retreating form, you tighten your grip on the closed phone in your hand.

This is where it all starts to go downhill for the day, you know. You stare at the silver cell once more, your silent witness to the one bright spot for the better part of your day before dropping it into your bag and heading towards the locker rooms.

-o-

**Chipper:**

_Ah yes, this is where my day starts to suck._

"Here," Christina says, thrusting a Styrofoam cut of coffee into your hands.

Your confused look asks Christina everything. "I'm not going over there for the geek love fest," she explains, nodding her head in the direction of Burke and George, immersed in some intense conversation that involved wild gesturing and friendlier touching than you thought would be appropriate between two straight male friends.

"You know, I thought it'd be good once he was gone, but I tell you, Burke's even more depressed now that he's gone," Christina sips from her drink, leaning against the wall as she stares at the two. "How pathetic," she observes.

A stream of steaming, cheaply brewed hospital coffee slides down your throat. Bailey approaches the two of you and orders you both follow her. Marching after her down the hall, you and Christina fall back into the comfort of the daily pattern.

Addison is walking down the hall, and you immediately feel your stomach tighten. _"We're really trying to have some decent sex…"_ You think she seems different today, and then you notice a faint red patch about 2 inches below her left ear.

"Dr. Bailey, Dr. Yang, Dr. Grey," she greets each of you, smiling when she says your name.

You smile back as you follow after Bailey.

_McBitch._

_Well clearly they accomplished that, and if the size of the hickey is any indication, he has gotten over his problem of being 'intimate' with his wife._

_Friends my ass!_

You quicken your pace to catch up with Bailey and Christina, about halfway down the hall now. "So…?" Christina inquires.

"I _know_ you two are not gossiping during rounds," Bailey states. _How does she do that?_

"Absolutely not," Christina retorts back.

"Grey?" Bailey asks.

"I'm fine," you answer. "I'm great."

"Glad to hear it," Bailey smirks, lead both of you to the first patient's room.

-o-

**Cold:**

You glance up from your notes, trying not to collide into anyone as you walk down the hall.

Unfortunately, the person headed right at you chooses for just this minute to look up from the large file he was walking with.

"Dr. Shepherd," you address him, nervously. You can see the look on his face. That disdainful, angry, hurt look is still there. _'How can he possibly be hurt?'_ you wonder.

He doesn't say anything to you, he simply nods at you before turning his attention back to his notes, and with a quick condescending glance at you, continues down the hall.

Turning on your heel and rushing after him, you fall into step with him.

"Yes, Dr. Grey?" he asks, annoyed.

You look at him, stung by the harsh tone. "Derek, I—just thought you might want to hear how Doc was doing."

"No now, Dr. Grey," he seethes, brushing past you.

As he walks off, you stare, jaw hung low. What on earth is his problem? Well, fine. If he wants to act like he's five, then you certainly don't have to put up with it anymore.

Pursing your lips to a thin line, you suck in a slow, uneven breath. You see red. You're angry, but that's just for now. Before the day's over, you'll be perfectly happy around your friends, and act perfectly cold and aloof whenever he's around.

He'll be sorry.

-o-

**Complacent:**

He's been staring at you since the hallway, and you're satisfied and proud with yourself for not looking at him, not giving him the attention, or the chance to let him think that you care.

You casually leaf through the magazine while Christina continues her blow-by-blow of her morning's triple bypass surgery.

Eventually Christina trails off, seemingly distracted, she's looking at something across the lobby.

"Shepherd's totally staring at you," Christina whispers.

You smirk in satisfaction, "Good."

Christina looks at you, confused. "What happened?"

You deliberately avoid the answer, and instead flip the magazine page, hoping to sound as disinterested as possible. "What's he doing?" you ask.

She picks up a magazine from the coffee table, randomly selecting a page, and lowering her head. Watching her from the corner of your eye, you see that she's looking off into the distance and not at the page in front of her at all. "He's filling out forms, but he keeps looking over here. God, Mer, he looks upset."

"Well good, he deserves it."

"Did he find out about the vet?" she questions.

"Yeah," you admit. "He brought Doc over last night, and I was there with Finn."

"So…" Christina pauses, clearly confused, "Since he showed up, now you're ignoring him?"

"No!" you snap. "I'm not speaking with him because he's been rude about it ever since. He was already acting weird enough about the George thing; I don't need him acting like the jealous ex now that there's someone I actually kind of…"

"Kind of…?" Christina prompts.

"Never mind," you stop short.

Christina rolls her eyes, and you glance over to the station. You see Derek look down quickly at his notes. You caught him staring again. You turn back to your magazine, feeling him looking at you. Inwardly you smile, satisfied and content with ignoring him.

-o-

**Confused:**

You watch as she says something to him, placing her hand on his chest, and learning to whisper something in his ear. You try to quell the flare of jealousy, and look away, pretending to read a chart. Peering back, you see him move back, and say something to her. He runs a hand through his hear, and motions for her to stop. You try to understand what's going on, but you can't hear, despite their large gesturing. But, after the exchange, he storms off, angry, while she looks irritated. The Shepherds fighting, while not the most remarkable thing you see at the hospital is still a surprise. But, what surprises you the most is the thrill that races through you, seeing that he's unhappy with her.

You're not supposed to hope for that now. It's not fair to backtrack like that.

You've met someone. You've moved on. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

And he's nice, and sweet, and you could possibly, eventually like him one day. But he's not Derek.

And trying to sort out the myriad of feelings is confusing as hell!

-o-

* * *

-o- 

_A/N: This felt like an off-week with this set. Between awkward words and finals, and stress with my internship, things just seemed… transitional. It's very Derek-centered, but since it seems like it's being set up for some major Mer/Der conflict, I felt the need to follow that. There wasn't much that happened in the way of completed Meredith actions that would affect her, and this week's episode seemed like a spring board for the final episodes. And speaking of which, oh dear God, I cannot wait for the upcoming explosion!_


End file.
